


Let’s Consider a Change of Scenery

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, Future Fic, M/M, vague/lazy details about anything that isn't directly Sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-26
Updated: 2012-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is trying to get ready to go and he’s gonna be late and Derek is cooking and so what if he kisses him goodbye real quick? It’s not like it means anything.</p><p>Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let’s Consider a Change of Scenery

Stiles blinks into awareness, cursing the too bright morning sun that trickles in through the blinds, and curses the fact he has to leave his bed to start getting ready for class. Praying that he maybe woke up too early, Stiles turns while keeping himself wrapped tight in the blankets, and glares at his clock.

_9:55 am_

Stiles sighs, blinks once and leaves his eyes closed for too long, then lets out a shrill scream because he’s so gonna be late for class, and Derek is gonna give him that look that says “I’d tell you how disappointed I am in you, but that would be the  _nice_  thing to do” and simply give him that look all fucking day.

Stiles topples out of bed, on the side that’s too close to the wall and he ends up stuck for an extra thirty seconds too long. He scrambles to break free, and ends up having to squeeze himself under his bed first, then rush to his closet to find a shirt that doesn’t reek. He looks down at his pajama pants, considers the fact there’s no dress code, and almost forgoes jeans entirely until he hears Derek shout.

“No!” And really, there’s no mistaking just who Derek is talking to.

Stiles grumbles and dances around to get his pants off and shuck on some jeans that were lying on his floor. They probably aren’t clean, but it’s his least favorite class anyways, so he can’t be bothered that much.

He bursts from his room, runs right past where Scott is pack-cuddling-or-something with Isaac and Boyd in the living room, and skids into the kitchen. He buries himself in the fridge to grab a Monster, then turns around, and a small plastic bag is in his hands, with a tupperware box inside.

“For me?”

“For you,” Derek grunts, glaring from the stove to the bag to Stiles. “Go.”

Stiles’ face lights up because he smells bacon and eggs and  _cheese_  and grabs the bag. “Thanks so much oh my god,” and he leans forward, kissing Derek briefly on the side of his mouth, before he’s digging his keys out of the little tray on the counter and running out of the house to his Jeep.

)

He gets home later than he had intended, arms full of grocery bags. He’s trying to use The Force to get his keys out of his pocket and unlock the front door, but before he can make progress the door is swinging open anyways. “Oh, hey, help?” He asks of Derek, gesturing with the bags.

Derek simply nods, though there’s a round twinge in his cheeks that hints at a smile, and he takes the bags from Stiles  _and_  lets him into the house first.

Stiles starts to put things away as soon as everything is in the house; Derek doesn’t help—because it’s well established that this is Stiles’ job, as is grocery shopping in general, and setting the table, and cooking. Derek, instead, just leans against the threshold of the kitchen, arms cross and face unreadable. Stiles doesn’t pay him much mind though, intensely focused on what would be a mess without him.

When it’s finished, he sighs and looks at Derek with a grin, “hey.”

“Hi.” Derek nods, and Stiles thinks he might be  _glowing_.

“Good day?”

Derek simply shrugs, stepping a little closer to lean against the counter with Stiles. “You?”

Stiles is bewildered, momentarily, because this isn’t how things usually work. But he’s not going to argue. “Class was ridiculous but I think everyone was envious of my breakfast,” he grins and nudges Derek with a grin. “Thanks again,”

“Of course.” Derek says like he’d do it every morning.

“Oh god,  _finally_ ,” Jackson snaps when he walks into the room. Danny is a few steps behind—they’re trailing out of their shared bedroom, and Stiles doesn’t need super werewolf powers to know what probably just went down—and he has a knowing look on his face just like Jackson. “Finally?” He looks at Derek, who nods. “Finally.” Jackson settles finally, “so what’s for dinner?”

Instead of answering Stiles says “finally  _what_?”

Jackson, equally annoying, doesn’t answer.

Derek looks at the kitchen deeply, then says “baked ziti.”

Jackson whoops. “A feast!” Because really, the dish that Derek bakes it in may as well be considered a cauldron or a never ending pit or something. Danny grins and Stiles can’t help it either, because Derek’s ziti is  _awesome_.

)

Later at dinner, Derek all but demands that Stiles takes the seat beside him, which leaves his usual seat empty. There’s less pack than chairs, and one seat was always left open. It’s strange, for Stiles, sitting somewhere that isn’t beside Scott. It’s not so bad though, because the food is fantastic and the company is great, and Stiles always feels happier when they take the time to eat dinner as a pack.

With Scott working, and Derek holding down the fort all day, and with Erica in school and Stiles in school and Jackson doing an intern and with Danny working all night at his job, and with Boyd and Isaac doing whatever it is they do, things get crazy, and there isn’t always time for them to do this. So when they do, it’s nice.

Jackson and Danny clean up, and Stiles gives his weekly pep talk to Scott about Alison choosing her family over them, and how they weren’t mates, and that it’ll work out. Then Stiles slips into the shower, slips out again, and goes to his bedroom.

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice stops him. He looks like he’s trying to say something but can’t figure it out.

Stiles’ lip quirk into a smile. “Dinner was great,” he says, even though he helped with a fair portion of it.

Derek nods jerkily. “It’s—it’s nice. With you. Cooking.”

Stiles blinks, and nods again. “Yeah. We’re a good team.” He raises his hand for a fist bump but Derek’s fingers wrap around his wrist and pull him into—a  _hug_? “Uh, dude?”

“Sleep well,” Derek stammers over the words and then retreats to his own room.

Stiles writes it off to the wine he snuck from Erica just before they sat down to dinner.

)

Things are relatively normal for a few weeks; if anything, the atmosphere is happier, more pleasant, and as weird as it is to say, Stiles is pretty sure it’s all Derek’s doing.

They’re piled into the living room, cuddling and snuggling and watching some movie. Stiles is pressed up against Derek, who’s pressed into the arm of the couch with Scott at his feet. Boyd is on Stiles’ other side, followed by Jackson, who’s feet are on Danny’s stomach; Erica’s head rests on Scott’s stomach and her legs are tangled with Danny’s. It’s nice, just like the dinner. It feels like home.

Then, things get weird(er).

“So, you know,” Erica starts and Stiles can almost hear her lips curling into a snarl, “why haven’t you two fucked yet?” She turns her head and looks right at Stiles and Derek.

Stiles squeaks, and Derek growls. “Erica—”

“Why on earth would Derek and I be  _sleeping together_?” Stiles asks, ashamed of how many octaves his voice climbs

Erica snickers. Jackson groans.

“I thought this was over with.”

Even Derek looks confused, staring at Stiles like he’s grown another head.

“What?” Stiles asks, looking around, “what did I do?”

Derek growls, and Stiles is jostled when the entire rest of the pack scrams, mentioning something about hide and seek and woods and not being here. Stiles blinks owlishly then looks to Derek.

“I’m missing something, aren’t I?”

Derek stops mid growl and sighs, looking sad. Stiles shifts, uncomfortable because it really is an awful look on Derek. He sits up on his knees and awkwardly puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey, no, don’t clam up on me.”

Derek sighs again. “You don’t get it.”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it, and tries again, “probably not. Explain it to me.”

Derek side eyes the shit out of him in a manner of seconds, but relents. “You kissed me.”

Stiles laughs. “When?”

Derek just looks more upset at that. Stiles gulps and racks his brain and—

“Oh! Wait, shit, I did?” It’s coming into focus, slowly, but surely. The morning he was late. “Oops. Don’t kill me?”

Derek raises his head from his hands, then stares at them perplexed. “Why would I kill you for kissing me?”

“Because you hate me?”

Derek is suddenly in Stiles’ bubble. “I far from hate you, Stiles.”

“Oh.” Is all he can think to say.

“Did—?” Derek’s voice actually falters. “Did you not mean to?”

“Kiss you?” Stiles asks and Derek nods. “Well, not really. Like, it hadn’t been planned. I was in a rush and you gave me food and it wasn’t even a proper kiss! It was practically on the cheek!”

“Do you want a proper kiss?” And Derek sounds way too happy to make that happen.

“Uh.” Stiles gulps in air. “So wait maybe,” he holds up his hands in surrender, “maybe. But first why did Erica—and Jackson, evidently—think we were supposed to be fu- _sleeping together_?”

Derek grins, and he looks like the cat that got the cream. “You kissed me,”

“So we’ve established,”

“I took that to mean you were ready.”

Stiles blinks, a little unnerved by the way Derek  _won’t_  blink. “Ready for what?” Stiles asks even though he isn’t sure he wants the answer.

“To be my mate,” Derek is  _way_  too close, now. “To be a leader of the pack with me.”

“Leader?” Stiles squeaks in a totally manly way.

“To be  _mine_ ,” Derek emphasizes.

“Yours?” Stiles isn’t going to deny the fact he’d thought about it. There had been a time when they were all still at Beacon Hills when he and Danny had had an intense learning experience. So it wasn’t the fact that Derek was a _guy_. So much as the fact that it was  _Derek_.

“Do you not want that?”

“Do I have a choice?” He’d read a lot of things about mates—they were chosen from birth, it was all fate, they got to pick, there were a lot of possibilities.

“Of course.”

“So it isn’t some freaky Twilight imprinting thing.”

Derek grins. “No.”

“Good, good,” Stiles nods, slightly relieved. “So, I can choose—not to, not to be your mate?”

Derek’s face falls, but he agrees. “You will always have a choice.”

Stiles settles into the opposite end of the couch, needing his space to clear his head. “Will you?”

“Yes.” Derek says, though it’s strained. “I will be more attached but I’ll.. I will be able to move on.”

“Like Scott and Alison.”

“Similar.” But Derek sneers and Stiles is pretty sure that there is some freaky fate-Twilight thing going on. But he doesn’t press, because for all the stupid questions he asks, he doesn’t find himself minding. Especially if it makes the pack stronger, happier—makes  _Derek_  happier.

“Okay,” and Stiles is sitting up again, looping his arms around Derek’s neck. “I think I can handle you.”

Derek looks lost, scared as if he’ll speak and this will vanish.

“C’mon, don’t I get a proper kiss now?”

Derek nods, and swallows, uncharacteristically nervous. He presses his dry lips to Stiles’ chapped own, and Stiles’ toes curl because he’s pretty sure kisses aren’t supposed to be like fucking  _magic_. They keep kissing, even when the pack returns and make grossed out noises in the hallway. Stiles can only think, especially when Derek picks him up to take him to bed, that he made the right choice.


End file.
